


The End of a Ballad

by plastic_cello



Series: The Ballad of Tony and Loki [9]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastic_cello/pseuds/plastic_cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things were better left in the past.  Some things couldn't be recaptured; they came and went like a tide, and only a few people were there to witness them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of a Ballad

* * *

 

  _For whatever lies behind the door_  
_There is nothing much to do_  
_Angel or devil, I don't care_  
_For in front of that door there is you_

 

**"My Death" - David Bowie**

 

* * *

 

 

Death was stealthy. It could be patient and ponderous, too. In whichever case, it always came too abruptly and far too soon. But Loki Laufeyson hadn't been of that opinion; he had had varied run-ins with his own mortality, and he was unafraid to die.

Loki had lived a life that guaranteed an early death. He had somehow survived an abusive childhood. He had traveled across the European continent, half-mad and ready to kill a man. He had abused alcohol and drugs to quiet the demons in his head. He had even starved himself along the way. And he survived a horrible car crash. So death was not something he wilted away from.

The fact he was on a busy London street corner in his mid-sixties was beyond a miracle. It was even more extraordinary that his health was as good as it was, although he was far from the definition of healthy. But he was alive despite the odds having been stacked against him.

Shaking out a Virginia Slim from the newly purchased packet in his possession, Loki took the comically long cigarette and placed it between his lips. He wasn't supposed to be smoking. His physician had advised him against it, and he also had Tony perpetually on his back about his dirty habit.

He'd been good for three months, though. He hadn't touched a cigarette throughout that duration of time. And he might have continued on that trend had he not been stressed by several elements in his life.

Phil's death had been particularly hard to handle. Even though he wasn't afraid to die, Loki had been nearly obsessive with the macabre realization that his own death loomed closer than ever. His youth had faded long ago, and he still found that to be a hard truth to accept.

Looking in a mirror or catching his reflection in a shop window was always alarming for him. He was no longer the virile, lanky rock star that he once was. Instead he was an old man with wrinkles etched around his eyes and frowns lines that emphasized the pinched shape of his mouth. And his once black hair was accented by several noticeable strips of white that gave away his age even further.

Tony had praised him on how well he had aged, but Loki was of a different opinion. He loathed how far he had fallen from his prime. It was difficult to look at old memorabilia from his career, or even to flip through family photo albums. Because he had lost what had been so special about him; he felt like only half the man he'd once been.

Smiling mirthlessly, Loki pocketed the packet of cigarettes and pulled out a battered zippo lighter in its place. He raised his hands to cradle the flame he ignited, before he lit the tip of his cigarette and inhaled eagerly.

The first inhalation burned his lungs, but he never felt something so welcomed in his life. He suppressed the urge to moan as he exhaled a plumb of smoke out that danced around him like a halo. Even if he realized how badly he'd be scolded by Tony later, it really didn't matter too much to him in the present.

He slipped his lighter back into his pocket, before he inhaled again and then pulled the cigarette from his lips. He honestly hadn't a clue why he had denied himself such a small pleasure for all those months. He had already given up LSD, so why deny himself a cigarette or two?

Well, Loki knew why. Tony had been his key motivator, and he had been Tony's when he had cut back on his alcohol consumption. They had done it for one another. But right now Loki felt selfish and self-involved, and he wanted something to keep him on level ground.

Glancing towards the traffic lights, he noticed the pedestrian crossing had been lit up and a drove of faceless individuals in winter attire stampeded over the crosswalk. Loki soon was swept up in the tide as he nursed his cigarette which he held in between his gloved fingers and guided to his thin lips.

He felt somewhat alive. He had gone out on an entirely different errand, but he soon found himself in front of a corner shop with sun-faded advertisements of tobacco plastered on the windows. He hadn't been able to resist, and after his abysmal meeting with Morgana; he needed some kind of relief.

Despite being in his sixties, Morgana had been keen on tossing Loki back on stage whenever the occasion arose. She wanted to celebrate album anniversaries, and to trot him on stage with musicians who had been influenced by him.

None of that held any of an appeal. While Loki had made a comeback nearly ten years beforehand, he had been far more spry in comparison. Not to mention he had been working in an office for years, so the desire to get back on stage had been all-encompassing then. But now he was tired and his fading looks did not make him want to be photographed or video-recorded.

Unfortunately, they did not see eye-to-eye on the trajectory of his career. He felt like retirement would essentially be beneficial at this point. He wasn't opposed to recording new music, but the idea of promotion and two hour long performances just wasn't feasible at this point.

He downright refused an Odin's Sons reunion. He had played with his elder brother once since the band had broken up, but he wasn't about to do it again. Not only because he and Thor hadn't actually made up from their previous disagreements and betrayals, but also because he wanted to cement his own legacy without the constant connection to a defunct band that hadn't been as close to popular as he had been on his own.

"Selfish of me, I know." Loki murmured under his breath, as he stepped onto the curb and continued towards his destination which was still several meters away. "But that is who I am."

In a way, Loki's selfishness had served him almost better than his talent. He wouldn't have gotten this far had he stayed with Odin's Sons. Thor had always been the one in charge of that operation. He had contractually trapped Loki into a record deal, and that was one sin that could never be forgiven. And yet it proved to be the motivation that he ultimately needed to leave the band.

All the back-handed treachery wasn't something Loki necessarily regretted. He normally did not regret much of anything. His career had been quite successful, and it was hard to think that he could have done something entirely different while ending up in the same place.

So any murmurs of a reunion was for naught. Even with Tony breathing down his neck to at least consider it, Loki refused to give it any thought. He hadn't had any obligation to a bunch of old fools that were past their prime. Not to mention, he certainly wasn't at the top of his game either.

His voice was still strong, but there was a waver to it that hadn't been there before. He also seemed to have developed a bit of arthritis in his hands, which could make piano or guitar playing a bit painful. And well his appearance, that was already fully discussed and he would be damned if he painted his face and pranced about like he was thirty years old again.

Some things were better left in the past. Some things couldn't be recaptured; they came and went like a tide, and only a few people were there to witness them. His career was similar in that sense. Some had seen him bell-bottomed and performing beside Thor, others had seen him painted and elaborate behind a piano, and others witnessed him older but far more refined.

No one would see him on stage again, though. Whether Morgana liked it or not, Loki hadn't any plans to sing in front of a crowd again. And if she continued to pester him, well he would find representation somewhere else; Hamish's soul be damned.

Curling his lip in annoyance, Loki tried to ward away the conversation from his mind. He saw no reason to become upset about it. The only one who'd suffer from his decision was Morgana's pocket.

He knew he was invaluable to Morgana's company. He earned them the most revenue, and he was still doing so without being anywhere near active. Hell, he had made the company money while he played architect for years. So he didn't see any reason why he had to be a dancing monkey for her benefit any further.

The very reason why he'd struck out on his own was to avoid being controlled. But now that he was far older than he ever thought he would be, Loki wasn't about to let anyone bully him into doing something that he was unwilling and mostly incapable of doing.

"Oh my god," someone loudly cried as Loki continued up the sidewalk. "That looks like him; it must be! Mary Ann, it has to be him! I'm sure!"

Loki quickened his step. He wasn't quite sure if he'd been spotted, but he didn't want to be accosted right now. He usually did not, except with how much of a foul mood he was in; he was certain that he wouldn't be able to be the slightest bit pleasant.

As he picked up speed, he flicked the residual ash from the tip of his cigarette and made to bring it to his lips once more. However, an abrupt pain hit him straight in the chest right then. It was enough to take his breath away.

Weirder aches and pains had wracked his body in recent years, so Loki only thought to rub his free hand across the width of his chest. But that did little alleviate it; the pain bloomed more evidently and it pulled a grunt from out of him this time.

The sensation left him temporarily dazed. He paused in the middle of the busy street, which led to him being tousled by angry commuters who found his abrupt stop to be a hindrance. He found it equally inconvenient, however he really couldn't move for what felt like an eternity either.

That insistent cry of recognition seemed to become louder as he stood there, and Loki knew he needed to move in order to avoid an unnecessary interaction with a stranger. So when at long last he felt the pain dissipate to a manageable ache, he started forward once more.

Somewhere between the pain and his temporary stop, his cigarette had dropped from his fingers. The ash still clung to the leather glove, and the smell was pungent on his person. He could taste the tobacco on his tongue, and his body was still buzzing with its nicotine fix. But the cigarette itself was nowhere to be seen; it was probably trampled underneath designer shoes and sneakers.

The next few yards Loki traversed were nearly normal. There was a dull ache in his chest where the pain had been, but otherwise he felt functional. He returned to his former gait, determined to disappear in the crowd before he could be harassed. And he almost managed it; he was close to turning the corner and he was close to home until he was struck by another bolt of pain.

Unlike the first two, this instance had Loki stumbling forward. The pain was so pronounced that his vision began to waver, and everything seemed to whittle down to the sensation of a giant hand surging through his breast to squeeze at his vulnerable heart.

He choked on a word that he didn't even know. He suspected it might have been 'ouch', although there would never be any confirmation of that. Because without any further preamble, Loki staggered a step or two more and collapsed unceremoniously onto the dirty pavement.

The feeling of impact was lost to him. Loki felt nothing but the wretched twist in his chest, and the inability to breathe. His lungs were suddenly tight and useless, and he couldn't seem to breathe in any oxygen despite the loud gasps he took in, in order to alleviate the pain.

As he lay on the sidewalk, feeble and suffering, no one tried to assist him. Angry feet knocked about him, kicking him involuntarily. Blurry faces flew by Loki's eyes, although they lost relevance as the pain persisted and he looked skyward.

Grey clouds, heavy with pollution and oncoming rain floated loftily by. The weather forecast foretold of rain much to Tony's annoyance. But Loki always loved the miserable weather; it matched his personality well. And he had been looking forward to the downpour.

It was about to break; he could feel it in his bones. While all else failed, Loki knew the rain would come. And as his heart was clenched harder and harder, he distantly wondered about that tell-all book he had finished. Maybe it would be published sooner than expected; Morgana would make another red penny out of him yet.

Slowly, he grabbed at the place above his heart. There was no way to contain it; he'd always been terribly, recklessly emotive. He couldn't help it. He loved as he lived – unrestrained. And he was taken by a song then, although the words would never leave his lips.

He heard the familiar chords of "Letter to Hermione" in his mind. He remembered the first time he listened to it, and how he felt it was like a love letter to Amelia. His beautiful, carefree Amelia; yes, he remembered her most of all. But he remembered Tony, too.

Amelia and Tony, he loved them dearly. They were the opposite sides of the same coin, and he had missed both without restraint. He loved them in life, and well now he knew – he would love them in death as well.

Goodbyes were never his forte. He was miserable at them. He made promises, even if he couldn't ever keep them. He had broken too many. He had hurt too many. And he had broken the last promise that he ever would make – he promised he would be home by six o'clock sharp.

That remained frozen in his mind, a forever thought because the pain dissipated and finality struck Loki Laufeyson. He felt no more; he saw no more, and the world would have him no more. It wasn't a goodbye; it was a footnote. It was the end of something magnificent and ugly and wild and revolutionary.

It was the end of a ballad.


End file.
